


Westeros...actually

by neurodramaticfool



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Love Actually AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurodramaticfool/pseuds/neurodramaticfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve, everyone is caught in a sea of problems, many relationships need to be defined and many people need to understand stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Wsteros Actually](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/89102) by Neurodramaticfool. 



> Well, first things first, I couldn't be posting this without the wonderful person that [JeanJacquesFrançois](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanJacquesFrancois/pseuds/JeanJacquesFrancois) is, so I owe her like three millions thanks or something like that.
> 
> Other things, um, it's really lenghty, sorry, it was summer when I wrote it in its original language and I was bored. Then it got translated and it was awful and it got beta-ed and now it's decent. :D
> 
> Have a merry Christmas, you all!

**Christmas Eve, 2014**

 

It was mid-winter, snow covering the trees of the Kingswood in thick white blankets for as far as the eye could see, and yet Robert Baratheon, Prime Minister, would never have forgone his traditional Christmas Hunt. For years now he had been going hunting on Christmas Eve, even before he had been elected to government, but this year he wanted to go the whole hog. He had had an even longer trip organised, and he would be taking a sizeable group of companions, amongst whom were his youngest brother and that hateful cousin of his wife’s who she had insisted be made his assistant. His name was Lancel and he was hatefully blond and Lannister, but Robert’s marriage was on the rocks even without refusing Cersei her whims. And so Robert had brought Lancel along. He would also have liked to bring his eldest son, to try and make a man of him, and yet Cersei had objected: it was too cold apparently for their precious boy to be out in the open for two days. It had been grudgingly that Robert had agreed, and he’d been even more disappointed when Ned, the great Ned, his ever best friend and faithful associate, had declined as well, lamenting leg problems.

 

And so, Robert found himself hunting with Renly, who did nothing but ask him question after question about how he had got into power. It took Robert down memory lane, but whilst he rather enjoyed reliving glorious moments of the past, it also distracted him from the quarry they were tracking. It was rather irritating, but Robert couldn’t find it in himself to be too mad at his brother. He was too cheerful, too well-disposed even though he openly hated hunting, and depriving him of the pleasure of talking just seemed unfair.

 

Lancel on the other hand seemed to open his mouth only to complain, or to offer alcohol around, like he was a walking wine shop. That the Prime Minister enjoyed a tipple or two was common knowledge, but if it were possible, he’d been drinking even more ever since Lancel had started following him around.

 

 

 

Indeed, as soon as they reached a fork in the path, the blond turned to him. “More wine?” he asked.

 

They were still an hour away from the cabin where they’d stop for the evening and Robert accepted the offer gladly, nodding whilst the young man pulled an open- and almost empty- bottle of wine out of his backpack.

 

“Perhaps it’s time to quit,” Renly laughed. “You’ve already drunk enough. Soon you’ll be seeing boars even where there are none.”

 

He intercepted the glass destined for Robert with ease, thinking it not quite appropriate that his brother got drunk before it was even five in the afternoon. It was particularly inappropriate considering that they were expected for dinner at their other brother’s house. It was already a rarity that he invited them at all, and winding him up certainly wasn’t the best of ideas.

 

“It’s you that has to quit!” Robert snapped, wrenching the glass from his brother’s hands. “Wine makes you talk like Stannis, and one of him is quite enough thank you.”

 

Renly sighed in resignation. Hoping that Robert held his liquor like the rumours said he did was his best chance now.

 

………………….

 

The train was almost empty; it was Christmas Eve and anyone who was travelling that day was surely not doing it out of choice, for anyone sensible would have been at home with their family. The service woman climbed the steps that would lead her back to her car wearily though, two sytrofoam cups of coffee in her hands. There was a blond man sitting in the corner of the compartment, clad also in uniform, and she approached him. His expression was sad, melancholic, and she let out a sigh. They’d been travelling together for four weeks now and in all that time, she had only seen him smile in order to mock her.

 

“Careful, it burns, Kingslayer!” she warned him, handing him the cup and taking her seat in front of him.

 

“God, is the wench going to deprive me of the other hand too now?” he threw back in answer.

 

“My name is Brienne. How many more times do I have to tell you?” Sighing, she tried to sretch her long legs in the small space between the seats. She was very tall, for a woman, and taller than most of men too, something which had used to make her feel rather awkward when she was younger.

 

“Until you understand that mine’s Jaime,” the blond retorted, shaking his head. It wasn’t as if Brienne didn’t know that his name was Jaime Lannister; it was just that since she had joined the army, she had only ever heard him be called by the nickname that he’d gained when he’d killed the chief of a huge weapons corporation in the Middle East, whom they called ‘the Mad King’.

 

“Fine, _Jaime,”_ she clarified, sipping her coffee. “What are you going to do then when you get home?” She was asking more out of courtesy than out of interest.

 

It had been four terrible weeks. In a clever strategic move by the terrorists, Jaime had been taken hostage in Afghanistan, and Brienne had been part of the team tasked with his rescue. Then, as it had been decided that the freed prisoner would not be able to make the long journey back home through the desert, sea and sky by himself, Brienne had been charged with escorting him home. The hardest part had been reaching the military base at the edge of the desert. At the beginning, they’d had a jeep, but it had soon run out of fuel and they’d found themselves on foot in the middle of nowhere, one of their fellow soldiers, a relative of Jaime's in fact, collapsed amongst the dunes, completely dehydrated. It hadn’t been long after that that Jaime and Brienne had been captured by a group of outlaws and separated from the other two soldiers. It had been only Jaime’s intervention that had prevented Brienne being raped that day, and the gesture had earned him a bullet in the hand. That wound had festered, and by the time that Jaime and Brienne had made the long escape through the desert and reached the base, the infection had spread so much that the hand had had to be amputated. They’d then taken a ship to safety, and throughout the whole journey, Jaime had done nothing but grunt and curse everyone who came to mind. The flight had been marginally better, only because they both had fallen asleep, worn out by the three weeks in the desert and at sea. Now, only a few hours on the train were left.

 

“I'm going to go and see my sister,” the soldier answered, the ghost of a smile on his face. He had spoken often to Brienne of his sister. He adored her, and he was determined that she would be the first to know of his lost hand, that she would be the first to comfort him. And if there was anything that Jaime knew for sure, it was that Cersei was good at comforting her twin.

 

Brienne nodded, continuing to sip her coffee as she prayed desperately that he wouldn’t ask her about her own plans, plans which currently consisted of her spending Christmas alone in a hotel room, hoping that some decent films would be aired on TV and that the phone wouldn’t ring, because it would surely be Jaime wanting something.

 

............

 

It was Daenerys Targaryen's first Christmas since her husband Drogo's death and her miscarriage. Of the three lives in that vehicle, only she had survived. The event had tested her hard; she could have abandoned the company, she could have gone back to the West, and yet she, as the true queen that she felt she was, had stayed there, in the Middle Eastern desert, trying to keep the reins of her father's industry and her husband's organisation.

 

It had been a marriage of convenience. She, the Mad King's orphan child, owner of the biggest weapon industry in the westernized Middle East, had married the chief of a terrorist organisation, the Khalasar. That way, the Khalasar had secured its own supply of weapons and the industry a client. The idea had been her brother Viserys', but he had then changed his mind and Drogo had killed him. Daenerys had become both Queen and Khaleesi, and it was a great burden of responsibility for her slender shoulders.

 

“Khaleesi, do you want me to bring you something sweet?” Doreah, her personal assistant, a local girl, very sweet despite being born and bred in a world of violence, asked.

 

“I thank you, but this year I'm not going to celebrate Christmas at all,” she answered, sighing and looking up at the girl with her violet eyes.

 

Sadly, she had other matters to preoccpy her, like how to persuade the Khalasar that she was as rightful a leader as Drogo had been, that they could stay with her, instead that dispersing like they were doing. Or, how she was to secure the support of the Second Sons, another terrorist organisation from whom she was seeking help to make the country they lived in less western and return it to its cultural roots.

 

She sighed, noting that Doreah was still there, her hazel eyes on her.

 

“Can I do something else for you?” she asked, worried as a mother would be, despite being only a few years older than Dany.

 

“Yes,” the Khaleesi smiled, pushing her silver hair off her face. “Go home and enjoy the festivities for me.”

 

The girl nodded obediently, retiring.

 

“While I'll be here trying to work things out seeing as I have no one to spend Christmas with,” Daenerys added as soon as she heard the door of the lower floor closing.

 

...................

 

 

Having a huge family had never been that difficult for Ned Stark, before this Christmas at least. Usually it was Catelyn who sorted out dinner and divided up everything that needed doing carefully amongst the children, so that the whole day ran smoothly. But this year, Catelyn was keeping vigil at Bran’s bedside at the hospital, and she had left Ned in charge of making dinner for not only the entire Stark brood but some Tully relatives as well.

 

Ned had decided that Sansa, being old and responsible enough, would help Mordane, their hired help, in the kitchen, and that Arya would help. Sansa had also been put in charge of deciding what to make, whilst the other two were just supposed to follow her orders.

 

This task, so full of responsibility, had made Sansa really proud, making her smile for the first time in days. She'd declared herself ready to be in charge and she’d promised them the best Christmas dinner in years.

 

“Calorie laden food and lots of courses are out of fashion,” she'd established, after tying her hair up in a tight braid and gathering Arya and Mordane in the kitchen. “The new frontier of cooking is to give one’s guests appetising food, but also healthy food, combining flavours in a way that they can replicate at home.”

 

Arya, very predictably, had snorted and, throwing her apron over a chair, had yelled that she couldn’t care less about the stupid dinner, and that there there was nothing she fancied doing less than feeding the stereotype of a woman locked up in the kitchen.

 

“Call me if something catches fire,” she’d concluded.

 

Sansa had broken down and cried again, whilst Mordane had continued chopping cheese and vegetables for the pie, reassuring her she didn't deserve to be treated in that way.

 

Ned had intercepted Arya as she went upstairs. “Arya!” he'd called, hoping that she would listen to him for once and that there would be a chance of the evening not descending into chaos. “Your mum can’t be with us this year, so I need you all to work together. If you don't want to be in the kitchen, fine, do something else then. Do you want to decorate the Christmas tree with Rickon? I'll go and help in the kitchen, and I'll ask Robb to clean Jon's room for when he comes home.”

 

Arya had sighed. “Fine, I’ll do the tree. Have you already brought the ladder in from the garage?”

 

Sansa smiled when Ned joined them in the kitchen. She adored her father, he made her feel safe and secure like nobody else could. Without her father, she never would have overcome all the problems that she’d suffered in that period. Most of which had stemmed coming from the massive dick that Joffrey was.

 

“Hey, San, is it okay with you if I prepare the mixture for the cookies?” Ned asked, wearing Arya's abandoned apron now. His daughter laughed, amused by the sight of her father dressed like a cook.

 

When Joffrey had left her, Sansa had spent five days crying, refusing to leave her room and not eating. Then, her father injured his knee and Joffrey had seemingly turned over a new leaf; he’d showed himself to be kind and he’d suggested they get back together. He'd invited her to his home and he had also introduced her to his parents' colleague, a Petyr Baelish who was owned an array of TV channels and small publishing houses.

 

That had been a big mistake for two reasons. First, because Sansa dreamed of working in publishing and had worshipped Balished for years, second because Baelish himself had offered to accompany Sansa home and she'd accepted. She hadn't anticipated that he would kiss her before leaving her in front of the gate. Upset and angry, Sansa had immediately phoned Joffrey- he was her boyfriend, after all.

 

“You're a whore!” he'd answered, once again leaving her to her tears and shame. Not even Ned had been able to cheer her up this time.

 

“Do you think we should call aunt Lysa later?” Sansa asked, snapping out of her memories and back to reality. She felt she had to act the house-wife, and that she should make sure all their friends and family were wished a Merry Christmas.

 

“I think your mum would be delighted,” Ned smiled, taking his hands off the pastry. _Your aunt not so much, though,_ he thought to himself.

 

...........

 

They had been walking for hours in the woods, but now Renly was certain: they were finally on their way back to the cabin. The path that they were following, or what might constitute a path in the middle of the snowy trees, was one that Renly was sure they’d seen before.

 

Robert had already killed some birds, but he was desperate to bring down a boar. That had always been his favourite delight: putting a bullet in the belly of a fat boar.

 

Lancel had emptied the wine bottled a long time ago, several glasses of it having been sent Robert’s way, whilst Renly himself had started refusing glasses a while back. With all that alcohol inside him, even the formidable Prime Minister had started losing his lucidity, aiming the rifle even where there was no animal.

 

“Listen, Robert, maybe we should start getting back to the base and get going back to the city, we'll be late for Stannis and Selyse's dinner,” Renly suggested, trying to convince his brother to give up on the boar, but gently, without hinting at the fact that he thought Robert too drunk- that would have made him fly off the handle. “ And... I haven't decided what to wear yet and we’ve only two hours, of half an hour of which we’ll need taken to get back to the city. That leaves me only an hour and a half to get ready, Robert. We have to go.”

 

Renly knew that Robert thought that he spent more time than was necessary in front of a mirror, so he decided to use that as his weapon of persuasion, but he was actually mindful of being late. He was vain- he admitted that, but it was rather difficult not to be when you were as handsome as he was.

 

“Yours are a woman's concerns!” the eldest roared, not even raising his eyes from his search for the boar even for a second. He wasn’t going to let the young man's silly concerns interrupt his pursuit of the boar.

 

Robert went ahead, bounding across to a path that lay between two trees. He didn't notice that both Renly and Lancel had frozen some steps behind, an expression of dread on both their faces.

 

“Robert, stop!” Renly shouted, but it was too late. Robert turned around, pointing the gun at his feet, but his speed had abandoned him, he stumbled after the animal charged, menacing him with its curved tusks, and he fell on the ground, across the snow.

 

There was one thing that Robert had learnt since he'd started hunting boars and that was that nothing was more dangerous than a female who deemed her young in danger. And he, for Christmas' Eve, had just stumbled on a feamale, surrounded by piglets.

 

The female boar approached the prostate Prime Minister agressively; Robert tried to get back to his feet, collapsing again.

 

“I'm too fat,” he stuttered. The animal took that as a threatening sound and charged once again, this time putting a tusk in the man's belly.

 

“Robert, no!” Renly yelled, blue eyes wide with fear as he pulled the trigger of his rifle, making certain that the animal wouldn't cause his brother more harm.

 

Lancel merely stood there, in the middle of the trees, whilst Renly ran to help his brother and the patch of blood widened and pooled onto the ground.

 

.......

 

The young woman screwed up another sheet of paper, throwing it angrily at the opposite wall with a frustrated groan. Since Doreah had left, she had done nothing but try to write the speech she would deliver at the unveiling of her new weapons: three missiles capable of wiping out a whole continent. Oh, if only she could come up with sensible words and not pathetic ones! For that's how she felt- pathetic: the great Daenerys Targaryen, forced to rely on pleading speeches to get the help she needed from Daario Naharis. Daario himself was of little consequence, with his ostentatious looks and his arrogant ideas, but the Second Sons loved him and without them Danaerys would never have to lift a finger.

 _I'm really honoured..._ she wrote for the twelfth time, before crossing it immediately out.

 _It is with great pleasure that..._ She tried again. She snarled again at this attempt. How was it possible that everything she wrote sounded empty and redundant even to her own ears?

 

She drew a deep breath. What did she want to convey? A message of hope, of joy for the future.

 _Around me, I see the faces of slaves. You're free, go if you want, no one will stop you. But, if you stay, it shall be as brothers and sisters, as husbands and wives. I’m not Drogo, I'm not my father Aerys, butt nonetheless I won't be able to carry on_ my _war,_ your _war. Since I set foot on this country's soil, I’ve seen destruction and ruin, suffering and pain. Enough. From now on we will fight for this to end, for our Country to be ours and not those English speaking bastards'. I promise you that I will put my life on the line for this end, I promise you that I will give myself for our cause. And I swear to you that those who would hurt you will die screaming._

 

Satisfied, finally, with what she'd written, Daenerys lifted her head to look at her watch. Dinner time was long gone, she noted. It didn’t particularly matter, she thought. The main thing was that she’d finished her speech. The knock on the door startled her.

 

“Come in,” she answered, louder than she'd intended. Jorah Mormont appeared in front of her, his large frame filling the doorway. Dany smiled at him. “Merry Christmas, Jorah,” she told him, remembering his western origins and his likely loyalty to the Christmas tradition. Jorah came in, smiling awkwardly. Since Viserys was dead Jorah had been a sort of body guard to Dany. She didn't quite undertand why a rich westerner had chosen to live in a country torn apart by civil wars and violence and had chosen to aid terrorists, but she was grateful for his presence.

 

“My Khaleesi,” he began, making the young woman smile at the respectful way he always addressed her, like she was a real queen and not merely a symbolical one. Maybe no one had explained to him that those were contrived titles. “I thank you for your seasons greetings. I know how it must irritate you to see the tradition of Christmas taken root here, and yet you show the greatest respect for those who celebrate it.” Dany smiled even wider. That was true, that was what she did. “However, I'm here to talk about something else.”

 

“Tell me, Jorah, you're here to advise me after all.” She urged him to go on. Daenerys loved Jorah's advice, it was always very sensible and well thought in comparison to that of the Khalasar or Daario.

“It’s not advice of an official kind, but still. You see... since your husband’s been dead, you're no longer the same. You're more tense, you carry a great burden on your shoulders, you never take a break. This isn’t good for you. You're young, my Khaleesi, you can't live like this, you need someone to guide you, to be on your side....”

 

Daenerys frowned.

 

“My Khaleesi, will you marry me?”

..............

 

Renly had been driving for precisely twenty-three minutes when he reached the Capital's central hospital. Robert had been moaning and cursing for about half an hour and this, he hoped, was a good sign. If he’d been on the edge of death, maybe he wouldn't have cursed his wife and their three children.

 

Two nurses in white uniform ran up to them, hurrying to get the Prime Minister onto a stretcher and into the hospital. Renly followed them inside, knowing there would be many forms he needed to fill in. Lancel followed some minutes later, getting out of the car trembling.

 

It had been a horrible journey: Renly and Lancel had dragged Robert to Renly’s car and had tried to get him sat inside as gently as they could. But Robert had been too heavy and he hadn’t co-operated at all, so they'd merely lain him across the back seat and put their foot down.

 

Renly had been upset but he’d managed to keep on the road despite everything, even if he’d skidded a little around some of the sharper bends. All he’d been able to focus on was the fact that the hospital was one of the first buildings they’d see once they were out of the suburbs. He’d refused to lose his brother to a boar. It wasn’t possible for a man to die in such a way, not in 2014, and he’d directed all his anxiety to the gas pedal.

 

When he’d finished signing the recovery forms, Renly allowed himself a moment of reflection. He should really call Stannis and tell him they would not make dinner, and then he should get to the office and check how far along they'd gotten in fulfilling Catelyn's requests. He hoped Loras, his assistant, had sorted everything out before leaving for Highgarden. Maybe he should also tell Ned Stark about Robert's accident, Renly thought. And perhaps Cersei too. He decided that he would phone Stannis first though, or else he'd unleash hell on earth, then Cersei and lastly Ned.

 

He'd just finished talking with the second of his brothers, when a coquettish nurse approached him.

“Are you... Renly Baratheon?” she asked, running her finger over his name on a sheet. Renly nodded, putting a hand in the pocket of the hoodie he was wearing and realizing he was still wearing the clothes he had been hunting in. He was appalled at the thought.

“Your brother's been stabilized, in a few days he should be fine. He's in no danger, but the level of alcohol in his blood is very high. We suggested he rest, but he said that he wants to see you.” Renly thanked her and moved into the corridor, thinking that, if he’d been more of an asshole, he’d have let Robert call Cersei and Ned. After all was said and done though, he was too kind for a lawyer.

 

....

 

Since he was a child, Robb Stark had always thought of Christmas as a day when problems ceased to exist, where problems were put away to be taken out again later. In Robb's eyes, it was impossible for problems to exist at Christmas.

 

That had been true until this year, because this year there were far too many problems. His brother Bran had been hit by a car and had been in a coma for two weeks; his father had almost broken his knee and was forced to move little and with a crutch; his sister Sansa did nothing but cry, and he had to ask his girlfriend to marry him.

 

Usually, you don't _have_ to ask someone to marry you, but for Robb it was different. He had been with Frey, a girl who did actualyhave a name, but who everyone had called by her surname since high school, and everyone expected him to marry her. It was a convenient union, as her family was really rather rich and quite important. It was just that Robb wasn’t sure he wanted to marry Frey. There was something at the back of his mind that was telling him it was the wrong decision. After all, he thought, if he wasn't happy with her now, when would he be? He didn't want an unhappy marriage, like his aunt Lysa's or the Prime Minister's, and neither did he want one like his parents', in love but bound by duty rather than any particular passion. He wanted his wife to look at him like Leonette Fossoway looked at Garlan Tyrell, the happiest couple he'd ever met, and one who he'd met by chance, at one of his father's boring dinners.

 

At that same dinner he'd met a wonderful girl, a waitress as beautiful as she was humble and kind. They'd talked later and later into the evening, until finally, he'd plucked up the courage to ask for her number. Jeyne Westerling had strongly got into his heart, eclipsing all thought of Frey and the wedding. Quickly, he’d started finding excuses to go out with Jeyne and to see her even when it was most inopportune.

 

Initially, he’d tell himself that it was because he could pour out his feelings to her, he could complain about the life he led, all politics and demands he could forget about Frey and that horrible grandfather of hers. Then, he'd realised that he loved Jayne's attitude, so little used to luxury and elegance, how she was always surprised at his attentions and kindness, and, eventually, he'd come to understand that he had never loved Frey, not like he now loved Jeyne at least.

 

Yet he couldn't leave Frey for a waitress, not now that everyone expected the two of them to announce their engagement.

 

His mother Catelyn had told him, when he'd brought home Frey for the first time, that it was a responsibility he was taking on and one he couldn't back out of suddenly. She’d also told him that he would always be her son, regardless of anything.

 

Robb had promised himself to give Frey the ring that same evening. It would have been a great Christmas present for the whole family. However, he also had to see Jeyne and tell her that they couldn’t see each other anymore.

 

There was an hour until dinner, fixed for quarter past seven. Robb had already tidied up Jon's room and his own, had helped Arya and Rickon with the tree and had brought out the plates for Sansa and their father.

 

“I'm going out for ten minutes,” he announced, already dressed for dinner, and very conscious that those ten minutes would probably turn into half an hour at least.

 

Jeyne was waiting for him outside the tube station with a plastic bag in her hands. Robb's heart sunk: she'd bought him a present and here he was coming to tell her that he was going to marry Frey, and that everything that had been going on between them had to end that night.

 

“Jeyne,” he whispered, after they’d been speaking for some time, cold, sitting on a bench. “There's something I have to tell you...” The girl smiled in answer, and that made Robb feel even worse. He searched for the right words to tell her what needed to be said.

 

“Jeyne, I don't want to marry her. I want to marry you.”

 

Jeyne put her arms around him and kissed him. “Oh, Robb, what will your parents say?”

 

Robb was asking himself the same thing, but decided he didn’t care in the slightest.

 

....

 

Renly closed the door behind his back. Robert was lying on a bed with white sheets. In such a sober environment, he almost looked out of place. He had a IV in his arm and bandages around his stomach.

“You wanted to see me,” Renly said, putting his phone back in his pocket, having told everyone now what had happened. Anyone but the one person he would have liked to speak to...

 

“That blonde cunt. I want to ruin him!” The Prime Minister roared. _That blonde cunt_ must be Lancel, Renly assumed. Theorically, the definition “blonde cunt” applied to each Lannister, from the old Tywin to the young Tyrek, but now Lancel was the target of Robert's hatred.

“How?” Renly inquired, already annoyed. He didn't feel like working over Christmas, not at all.

“You're the fucking lawyer, Renly! You find the way! And fast!” Robert was really angry, and Renly knew better than to oppose him when he was like that. Renly knew that it was unwise to oppose him when he was like that. Regardless, he was going to protest, because it wasn't fair that Robert demanded him to be at his beck and call on Christmas Eve.

“And don't say you don't want to work over Christmas! Half your money comes from me, so don't push your luck too much!”

Renly sighed, thinking it would be hard to sort anything out by himself. “I'm on my own, Robert,” he protested, not quite knowing why he was doing that. “What do you want me to uncover about Lancel? You know well that framing a Lannister is a long and complicated job. It's not something that one man can do over Christmas!”

“I don't give a fuck! I want the cunt ruined! You and that faggot of your assistant better be quick about it too!”

Renly left. He wouldn’t force Loras into work from home just because Robert had thrown a tantrum.

 

…..............................

 

Reaching that house had always been difficult, and with the snow it was almost impossible, but when Petyr Baelish reached it, high up a mountain as it was, he uttered no complaint.

Lysa Arryn, Tully to use her maiden name, was on the phone, with that silly child at her heels.

As soon as she saw him, she hung up to hurry over and greet him.

“It was Sansa,” she expalined, the phone still in her hands. “she thinks she’s her mother and that she has to ring round everyone.”

 

Petyr would rather have spent Christmas with someone else, but Lysa had invited him, begging him to come because he was important to her, and he, having been through his options, had thought it better to go to Lysa and little Robert's than to stay with Varys.

“Let her pretend to be Cat. All she'll get will be a pathetic life,” he answered, hugging the mistress of the house.

 

It was the first time that Petyr had spent Christmas at someone else's home. Not because no one had ever invited him, but because he had never thought any invitation appealing enough to make him bother. Lysa was different. Lysa was Cat's sister, Lysa had adored him since they were children and, most petinently, Lysa's husband had just died. This unfortunate circumstance had stirred even Baelish's cynical heart and had persuaded him to keep his old friend company this Christmas, hoping that things wouldn’t turn out to be more awkward than he'd imagined.

 

“How are you, young man?” he asked, trying to be kind but managing only in part. The kid wouldn’t stop staring at him creepily and moving in circles around his mother like a guard dog. He didn't answer.

“Oh, you know, he doesn't speak much.” Lysa said, caressing his hair. Petyr sighed softly. He thought that the kid should have been visited by some doctor, but Lysa refused to admit that he had problems.

“Don’t worry about it,” he concluded, following the mistress inside.

 

…...................................

 

The office was so empty that it was almost unsettling, Renly thought, sitting down at his desk, under the window that faced the city, decorated for the occasion. He had had to take heed of Robert's anger in the end, but, before putting himself to work, he'd managed to take off those horrible, in his opinion, clothes, that he'd been wearing since before the accident. Luckily, he had some garments at the office.

 

He had been looking for twenty minutes for a folder in the computer- in each computer, to be honest- when he gave up, cursing everything and anyone that came to mind. He'd promised himself that he wouldn’t, and yet here he was, with a phone in his hands, ready to bother his poor assistant. Ten months earlier, he wouldn't have had a second thought about disturbing Loras at such a late hour, but now... he was really sorry to do it. Loras was given to him as an assistant by Robert, despite the fact that he didn’t have the first clue about law and had just graduated in something sport related. Renly had complained about him for many months until, at some point, he had started to look at Loras differently: the boy worked as hard as he could, doing everything that was asked of him, and, eventually, they'd become great friends.

 

“Hello?” Loras answered on the other end of the line, his voice louder than usual so that he could be heard over the noise of the road.

“Loras, please forgive me for calling you so late-” Renly started, trying to sound less pathetic that he already felt.

“Renly! Hey! No problem,” the other interrupted, with his ever-cheerful tone.

“Actually, there is a problem. See, I need to know in which damned folder we put the file named _Lannisters' afiiliations._ I've been looking for it for almost half an hour and I still can't find it,” he explained, trying to put it rather positively, although there was really nothing positive at all about working on Christmas' Eve.

“You're at the office? What the hell are you doing at the office?” the younger one inquired, laughing.

“My brother ended up at the hospital and now he wants to ruin some Lannister, nothing unusual.” He was trying to play down the turn of events, but not really succeeding.

“Stannis?” Loras hated Stannis, for some apparently inexplicable reason.

“No, Robert!” he answered, smiling to himself.

“That's a pity.”

“Loras!” Renly burst out laughing, glad that at least there was someone who lightened his mood. “Where do I find the folder?” he pressed.

“Give me half an hour and I'm with you” was the surprising answer.

“No, Loras, no. Wait, stop the works. What does that mean? Where are you now?” It wasn't the question he had wanted to ask, but it was too late.

“On the motorway. Seriously, Renly, give me half an hour and I'll find it for you. Let me just turn around and I'm there.”

“Don't even think of that, you have to have dinner with your family!” Renly protested, with very feigned enthusiasm. In actual fact, he wasn't sorry in the slightest that Loras was planning on joining him.

“I've had dinner with them every year for the last nineteen years. If I pass on the twentieth, nobody will care. I'll tell Margaery to tell the others. Seriously, I'll be there in a moment.”

“Loras... think about this, you don't have to do this. Don't feel obliged, I can do it by myself.” Set phrases, clichés, everything he could gather to persuade him not to come, because regardless of what he said or did, he really did want him to come.

“Renly. Stop it. I'm an adult and I know what I want to do,” he cut in.

“Are you sure you won't hate me forever then?” The lawyer whispered.

“...half an hour. Now I must hang up to phone Marg, see you later,” the assistant concluded, curtly, hanging up immediatey after.

 

..........

 

Brienne waved him goodbye distantly, as if she was tired, which was probably the truth. The soldier was left on his own, in front of Cersei's apartment door, with a military bag and a key. And only one hand. He laid the bag on the ground and tried to open it, but it seemed impossible. He'd never been able to do anything with his left hand and now that was all he had left. It was like being a baby again, but with the body of a grown man. He resolved to ring the bell.

 

When the door opened, Cersei was in a nightgown, with her hair down and a vexed air about her. As soon as she saw him, however, she smiled, happy. She hugged him without thought, swept up by the moment, silent until she noticed that something was wrong. Letting him go, she examined him with an expert eye.

 

“God, Jaime, what kind of condition have they left you in?” she whispered, holding his only hand with both of hers. He didn't answer, preferring instead to study his twin's face. She was so beautiful, so similar to him and yet so much more perfect than him. He caressed her cheek, her skin smooth against his rough and calloused fingertips.

 

“I missed you,” he concluded, tangling his hand in her molten gold hair. She smiled slightly, pulling him inside to close the door. Despite the sentimental moment, Cersei didn't lose sight of the bigger picture for a single second, and she didn't want everyone who passed on the street to see her with Jaime.

 

Cersei made to push him onto the couch, but Jaime stopped her. “Your husband's at the hospital,” he asserted. It had been Brienne who told him. She had received a phone call from a friend of hers, the brother of the Prime Minister, who told her these news, if what Jaime had understood was correct.

“So what? It means he won't come home tonight,” she answered, and this time Jaime found nothing to object to and let her kiss him.

He'd missed her terribly; he'd missed her pressing behaviour, her hunger, her needs. Cersei was the only woman that Jaime had ever wanted, and this would never change- the fact that she was his sister only made his desire to have her stronger, and he didn't care that she was married, or that their children bore her husband's surname; all that mattered was that Cersei would love him more than anyone else.

 

“Cersei, who was at the door?”

The woman broke the kiss, pulling up the nightgown strap that had fallen down. Jaime looked over his sister and what he saw made his desire to make love to Cersei ebb away immediately. Lancel, their cousin, stood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of boxers and running a hand lazily through his hair.

Jaime looked at Lancel, and then he looked at Cersei. Regardless of what either of them said, it wouldn't hide the truth. You can't lie to someone who's identical to you: it's like lying in front of a mirror.

Jaime picked up the bag and approached the door. “You disgust me,” he said simply, without telling them which of them he was referring to.

“Jaime!” Cersei shouted. “Don't you dare. Don't you go. If you go now... You would have never done this before! What's happened?”

“I've been to war, Cersei, that's what’s happened. And I lost a hand. I walked a long hard road for you, whilst in the meantime you’ve been... Merry Christmas, Cersei.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Ned Stark was proud of each of his children, even of Robb who'd just screwed up years of engagement, but he was also proud of the boy he'd taken in his house since he was a baby --  their sixth son, as he liked to call him, Jon.

Jon wasn't really his son; he and Cat had adopted him for a strange succession of events, ending up with their considering him as their son as if they'd conceived him themselves.

Jon, though, had lived in that situation as if he were a burden, as if he were in the way for the Starks, as if he didn't belong with them. Because of this, he'd decided to join a para-military corps, entrusted with the surveillance of the borders, leaving for the outer North. Despite this, there was no party in the Starks' mansion which he didn't take part in.

As soon as he'd arrived, his other five siblings had hugged him, one offering to lift his luggage, one asking insistently what was happening on the Wall. But it had been Arya that was the happiest of them all; she and Jon shared a really strong bound, and they missed each other really much when they were not together.

So, Arya hadn't left Jon alone for one second since he'd come home. She had followed him in his room, she had talked to him through the bathroom's door, and now they were together, deciding what to wear.

“Jon, are you sure everything is alright?” the girl asked, at a certain point, noticing that Jon had been staring at a pair of trousers for ten minutes.

“Sure,” he answered. Arya lifted an eyebrow. She would have never believed him. She swung a kick at him, urging him to talk.

“Okay, fine!” he conceded, sitting on the bed. “I have to tell father that I'm going to quit my job.”

Arya blinked in disbelief. “What? And why is that?”

Jon hesitated, which offended Arya a little as they'd always told anything to the other. “You see... there is a girl.”

Arya threw him a pillow. “You mean you would quit your job for a girl? Can't you keep both of them?” There was something that prevented her from understanding.

Jon threw the pillow back, hitting Arya full on her face. “It's not like that... it's that Ygritte, I mean, the girl, she doesn't love troopers that much. And my bosses don't look kindly upon making lives beyond the service.”

Arya shrugged, trying to find a way out that enigma. “And you're pretty sure your relationship with her will end well? Because you would be throwing everything away for nothing, otherwise!”

“Arya!” he laughed, and then he heard Sansa calling them from downstairs. “Let's go, I just have to tell dad. He will think the solution...”

Arya didn't say what she was thinking or that Ned's answer would have been “you have to decide for yourself.”

* * *

Daenerys allowed herself to laugh a little. She didn't know how to answer to this question, as far as it was a question. She felt honoured by such a request, but she didn't know if it was right. She liked Jorah. She liked how he made her feel safe, the way he did not approve of everything she said, the fact that he opposed her sometimes, tried to make her see his point of view. But, between appreciating such things and wanting to marry him there was a huge difference -- at least in Dany's opinion.

“I... Jorah, this is serious, I must ask you some time to think.” She concluded, hoping he wouldn't be offended by such an answer. He smiled and left her to her thoughts.

Daenerys thought that a year and a half before she'd have called her brother for advice, but now she was alone to hold the reins of her life. She sighed, trying to understand what she really wanted. Following her heart could be important, but in her situation, that wasn't the only thing that mattered.

She decided that she would have to tell Jorah no for now because she preferred to acquire the help of the Second Sons first, and the arrangement could vanish if she married a westerner. It was a matter of politics once again. She approached the door and noticed Jorah was on the phone and was speaking English. She imagined it was one of his relatives greeting him -- it was Christmas, after all. She liked the sound of English language, so she paid attention, hoping to get some words.

“...it's not like she said no. She said she has to think about it. Give her time. She's a kid, anyhow.” Daenerys frowned. He was talking about her, but with whom?

“Fine, Minister, but I can't force her to marry me.” The Khaleesi wondered what was happening. She didn't know Jorah had contacts with any Minister…

“I know it's you who pays me, but I cannot influence any people's feelings anyways. However, I have confirmation that the missiles will be launched on the market tomorrow.”

That was too much. Daenerys swung the door open, showing herself to Jorah in all her anger. He froze, hanging up the phone. “It's not what it looks like,” he said.

“And what is it, then? Because I'm pretty sure it's exactly what it looks like. That you’ve been selling me out for years now to the western government,” she spat, her hands trembling and sweating but her voice steady and serious.

Jorah looked down. “I... I didn't want to.” Daenerys tried to keep herself from punching him. She felt betrayed and humiliated. She trusted him. She had admitted all her secrets to him, and he paid her back like this! Who knew how long he'd been serving those bastards -- probably forever!

“Go away. Go away and never show yourself again. If I ever see you again in my whole life, I swear one of those missiles is for you!” she shouted, completely losing her temper. She saw Jorah turn pale and look for words to apologise to her. “Go away!”

* * *

They'd been looking for an hour for any possible connection between Lancel Lannister and any criminal underworld or for any trace of an excess on the boy's side, but they were getting nowhere fast. Of one thing Renly was certain: the Lannisters were good at hiding their filth.

Loras closed a notebook quite noisily, sighing in resignation.

“I'm having a coffee, do you want some?” he asked, passing behind Renly's desk,  as he headed to the office's small kitchen. Renly nodded, massaging his aching neck.

Loras came back a little later with a steamy cup of coffee, which he placed in an empty spot among several sheets. He stopped there to drink his coffee, silently. “Your brother has a strange concept of family Christmas, indeed...” he said out of blue.

Renly lifted his head to look at him. He was handsome, too handsome, he thought, almost sighing. Seeing Renly wasn't answering, Loras tried with another topic: “Do you need anything else before I get back to my chair?” Renly smiled, thinking of how many things he would have liked in that very moment. He lifted his eyes again, but a stab of pain in his neck made him grimace.

“A Thai masseuse, that's what I need. But we don't have that, isn't it?” he commented, massaging his neck again.

“Well, I'm not Thai, but I can try,” Loras replied, quietly, starting to rub his tense shoulders and aching neck down. “I'm not bad at all with my hands, eh?”

Renly blushed. It wasn't unusual for Loras to make such statements, but in that moment, with his hands on him, it was even worse. Renly cursed himself for having called him. They were proceeding quicker, that was true, but his presence distracted him.

“Renly?” Loras called him with the tone of someone who'd just noticed something important. “We've forgotten to put mistletoe in the decorations.”

Again, Renly felt his guts tighten. Was it possible that that boy made him damn himself that way? “And what on earth would mistletoe do here?” he asked, laughing. Loras lifted an eyebrow and laughed back, shaking his head.

“I don't know. Maybe it's time that you conclude something...” Renly turned round abruptly, freeing himself from Loras' hands in order to look him in the eyes.

“Are you implying that I have no luck in the matter of... relationships?” He wanted to be serious, but he was laughing.

“You haven't had a relationship with anyone since I've met you at least,” he stated, conversationally. This was taking an unexpected direction, Renly thought. He didn't want to tell him that it was almost completely his fault, but that was the truth. Since Loras had appeared at the horizon, the chance to like somebody else had been reduced drastically until it was none.

“That's because I don't care about it,” the lawyer defended himself, hoping that the other wouldn't notice his confusion. “If I only wanted, I'd have each guy I want.” He stopped, wishing that Loras hadn't paid attention to what he'd said. He knew he was practically flirting with a gay man, and that was just all he needed.

“Sure...” the assistant said compliantly. “So, next year we're putting up mistletoe to see how many boys you knock out.”

Renly forced himself to laugh while he felt himself blush.

* * *

Petyr had to resort to all his self control not to slap little Robert, who, for the whole dinner, had done nothing but throw food around and weep because he wanted to unwrap his presents.

Lysa, on the other side, seemed tranquil, kissing his son softly to calm him. Petyr thought that had that child been his son, he would have treated him really differently. He also thought that Jon Arryn, Lysa's husband, had not given a shit about Robert, letting that boy become intolerable.

When, eventually, they finished dinner, Robert ran to unwrap his presents and left Lysa and Petyr alone. He got back a little later with an airplane, yelling, “Mom, I want to see it fly!” and disappearing immediately after.

“Petyr,” the woman sighed, smiling. Her smile didn't suit her, not anymore. When she had been young, she had been a beautiful woman, but, growing old, she'd tarnished. Petyr thought that the similarities between her and Cat had lessened and lessened to his displeasure. “I beg your forgiveness for not having bought you a proper present.”

Baelish lifted his eyebrows. He didn't care in the slightest about presents. They had never exchanged presents, Lysa and him, so he didn't understand what she was implying. “Lysa, darling, we've never exchanged presents,” he protested.

“But this year,” she kept going, ignoring his comment, “I thought that you would have liked something different. Since Jon is gone, Robert doesn't have a male figure to turn to. He risks becoming a spineless boy! In a while he's going to be wanting to dress up like a woman; you could bet on it!” Petyr restrained from commenting that it would have been a preferable fate to having a completely dependant son forever. As he'd said to Varys, a long time ago, better brains than balls. Though he was glad to notice that even Lysa had got to see the situation for what was.

“So, we decided, Robert and I, that it's time for me to marry again.” Baelish wondered how much of this decision came from someone else. “But I cannot choose a random man! It would interfere with Sweetrobin's health. So, Petyr, are you going to be my husband?”

Petyr turned pale. He, married with Lysa? Lysa was a Tully, that was true, but she wasn't Cat. Though, she was still Cat's sister... and Cat didn't seem to want to get rid of that boring character that her husband was. He would also have the chance to make that kid walk the line for once. Besides, there were all the economical privileges that Jon had left to Lysa that she would passed him. It was definitely a positive thing, a marriage with her. The fact that she was crazy and that they probably would never speak was just an irrelevant detail.

He prepared himself to say yes when the phone rang.

* * *

Catelyn had absented herself for a moment -- she had to answer Ned's phone call, for he was explaining the news of the evening: Robb would marry a waitress, and Jon an immigrant from the North. When she got back in the hospital room that had been hosting her son Bran with his broken legs for two weeks, she almost squeaked in surprise, and then she started crying.

“Oh God, Bran! Bran, Bran, Bran... my little one!” She leaned in across the bed to hug the kid who'd just opened his eyes. The kid looked around, confused, hugging his mother awkwardly.

“What am I doing here?” he asked, after a few seconds, without letting go of his mother, who was sobbing on his shoulder.

“That bastard, Tyrion Lannister, ran you over and destroyed your legs, Bran! I don't know if you'll walk again...” the mother said, in tears, red hair shifting on the boy's shoulder.

Bran shifted with difficulty, trying to remember what had happened. “Tyrion? But he can't even drive...” he objected, pretty much certain that it hadn't been Tyrion who had run over him. He remembered a blonde head; it could have been any Lannister, yet he was sure it hadn't been Tyrion. Catelyn looked baffled by this remark, but said nothing. She kissed her son once again and took her phone after calling a nurse.

“Ned? Ned, it's me. Bran has woken up! He said it wasn't Tyrion,” she whispered, still crying, while a couple of doctors ran towards the young Stark.

* * *

Opening his house's door, Jaime felt irremediably alone. That was the apartment he'd lived in before leaving for Afghanistan, but, now, after Cersei's cheating, he felt utterly empty, emptier than that home which hadn't had an owner for almost a year.

He turned on the light, trying not to drop the key he was holding. He was slowly getting used to the idea of doing everything with his left hand. Actually doing it was the next step. The house had been cleaned up recently. His father must have sent someone to do it for him, knowing he would be back. Anyone who had cleaned up hadn't moved anything, though, because everything was exactly where he'd left it. He let his eyes wander to the familiar walls, full of photos of him with Cersei, or with Tyrion- but never the three of them together- and of photos of his unit in the army. Looking at one of these, he noticed there was Brienne as well, but he hadn’t known her yet. She was the only woman in the photo, but it wasn't noticeable that she was a woman. Jaime smiled, thinking back of all the times he'd mocked her about that one aspect, silently grateful for her strength in the moments when he was still the Kingslayer with both of his hands. Now he couldn't even grasp the gun decently. Why did he have to have been so good at shooting that he hadn't even bother to learn how to do it with both hands?

On the kitchen's table, there was a note and a box, wrapped in Christmas paper and a red and gold ribbon. His father. He quickly read the note. There it was written that Tywin was proud of his son and glad that he got back, and he wished him a Merry Christmas. He tried to tear the paper, but with only one hand, it was almost impossible. So he untied the bow and opened the package in order. It took away half the pleasure, he thought. When he managed to open the box and look what was inside, he burst out laughing bitterly.

“Father, father... you never lacked irony,” he declared, pulling out the wonderful leather holster with red reflections and red and gold metal studs. It would have held the ordinance gun perfectly, he reflected, examining it from lots of different angles. It was a shame that he could never use a gun again. The army would take him, but would not put him in action. He laughed again, laying the present on the table and going back to the living-room, determined not to think about it for a while.

* * *

“Hello? Baratheon law office speaking?” Loras answered the office phone, too surprised that someone was calling for Christmas to say something more intelligent, like “we're closed, sorry, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Yes, I'll call him immediately for you. Renly!” Renly got there immediately, crossing the three paces that divided their desks in the blink of an eye. He smiled at him while taking the phone.

“Hello?” He didn't know what to expect. Loras was regarding him interrogatively while Renly kept nodding, although he knew that from the phone he couldn't be seen. At a certain point he exploded in a satisfied laughter.

“Sure, okay, don't worry, we can arrange something whenever you like! What matters is that everything is solved.” He said goodbye to the interlocutor and kept laughing for a while. Loras was smiling back -- without knowing why, though. He always said Renly's laughter was contagious, and it must be if he was laughing without a reason.

“So, what did Catelyn Stark want for Christmas?” Loras inquired, unable to look away from his boss.

“Her son awoke from coma, and she retreated the accusation against Tyrion Lannister!” the lawyer exclaimed, happy because they wouldn't have to look for any little argument against the imp and because he was really glad Bran was fine. After all, he was sorry that kid had been in such a bad condition; the Starks were family friends.

Loras started laughing and impulsively hugged Renly, taking him by surprise. Renly feared that his heart would explode when he realized he had his assistant pressed against him. Then he worried that he could notice how much his heart was racing. He cleared his throat, hoping the young man would understand that it wasn't appropriate. Loras broke the hug immediately, smiling awkwardly and shrugging. They both laughed.

* * *

As soon as Lysa hung up and told Petyr that Catelyn said Bran had woken, Petyr felt that he absolutely had to go and talk to Cat.

He apologised to Lysa hurriedly and went away, leaving at the maximum speed, leaving the woman without an answer to her proposal.

When he got in front of the hospital, he ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to say it. He remembered something he had seen some Christmases ago on TV. Ha had always loathed Christmas movies with all those nauseatingly happy and sweet people, but that scene was impressed in his mind like he could relate on some level to that situation. And it was like that.

He grabbed some sheets he had in the car and a sharpie. He figured that he had done the right thing in leaving his work bag in the car for once. He wrote something down, and he ran, climbing the hospital's stairs. He asked a nurse to call Catelyn for him. He didn't want all her family, which surely was there, to see him.

When Catelyn arrived, he took the first sheet out.

I know it's not the right moment, but for the first time, I found the courage, was there written. She looked at him like he was crazy, but she didn't leave, so he proceeded to the show her the second piece of cardboard.

I know your situation well enough to know I have no hope, but I have to tell you anyway, the second one informed, in a neat handwriting, surprisingly uncomplicated for someone like Petyr. When we were young I told you I loved you, but you married Eddard all the same. Catelyn shook her head, but didn't say anything, nor she moved. Your sister tricked me into loving her, but she is not you. Cat frowned, sighing. I've only loved one woman, I swear.

Catelyn sighed again. This time she spoke, too. “Only one, you say?” She knew Petyr Bealish had had a romance with her sister even when Lysa was married. She knew he had kissed her daughter, causing a breakdown on Sansa's side. And now, he claimed to have loved only one woman.

Only you, the last cardboard said. Petyr waited for Catelyn to do something, but she just stood still for a while. Then she approached him, hugging him, and left without adding anything else.

Only you.

* * *

Renly went to open the door, still chuckling at Loras's joke from some seconds earlier about how the Lannister really did pay all their debts, even the ones nobody ever asked them account for.

“Brienne!” he exclaimed, seeing who was at the door and hugging the big girl cheerfully. The young woman stood in the doorway, almost as tall as Renly, with a huge sweater and a pair of trousers. Renly thought he would never see her in a dress. Loras appeared, curious, at the end of the corridor.

“Oh, you have company...” she said, embarrassed, coming in at Renly's invitation.

“He's Loras, my assistant,” he explained, laughing. Brienne had jumped to a wrong conclusion -- a conclusion that could never be true. “Loras, come and meet Brienne, we were classmates!”

Loras approached, smiling confidently. He studied the girl, lifting an eyebrow, and then he shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Renly and Brienne talked for a few minutes while Loras got back to work, determined not to be in the way for a reunion between old friends. The girl inspired a sense of fondness in him, but she didn't look much at ease with him in the room, so he had gone.

“So, your brother makes you work also at Christmas...” Brienne noted, with an awkward smile. “I thought you were still in the office, as you called me earlier. Even if I don't know why you called me, Renly. Did you want me to come?”

Renly laughed. There wasn't a reason, to be honest. He'd called her just because he wanted to unload with someone, but he couldn't call Loras even if he had ended up doing so because he had feared that he would abandon his family for him, which had been exactly what had happened.

“No, actually I wanted to hear a friendly voice...” he confessed without stopping laughing, running a hand in his dark hair. “If you were busy you didn't have to come..”

It was Brienne's turn to laugh, a strange sound for her. She didn't laugh often when away from Renly, and this was the reason why she'd had a crush on him, back in high school. “I had nothing to do, actually. I brought Lannister home with one hand fewer than expected, but I'm forced to stay in town for the next 72 hours until we're sure that Lannister won't try commit suicide or something like that,” she explained. Renly imagined Jaime wasn't a suicidal, but it was only the army's standard procedure.

“It must be Christmas-at-work year!” Renly replied, trying not to grind on her situation. As long as he knew her, the girl didn't have a family waiting for her, so she was sad because of that as well.

Brienne smiled unexpectedly in an unusual and almost mischievous way. “A condition that doesn't seem to weigh on you at all,” she noticed, making him laugh even more, while he tried not to blush. He looked at her to ask for explanation, which she gave quietly.

“I've never seen anyone happier to be working at Christmas than-” her mobile rang, making her snort. She showed Renly the display with “Kingslayer- Jaime: Calling” written on it. He raised his eyebrows, gesturing for her to answer.

“Hello?” Brienne snorted, smiling immediately later. “Okay, I'll try to be quick. Okay, okay, I won't hurry. Do you assure me you're not attempting suicide, Kings- Jaime?”

Renly looked at her interrogatively. “I have to go, Lannister calls. He says he has to show me something. Who knows...” the girl concluded, waving Renly goodbye and shouting her goodbye to Loras, too, who was lost somewhere in the office.

Before she pulled the door shut behind her, the young woman turned around and, smiling at Renly, she said, “I didn't finish before. Not only have I never seen anyone happier than working at Christmas, but I also have never seen you happier. Renly, it's Christmas and he came here for you. Wake up!”

* * *

Jaime Lannister opened the door with a tired smile, welcoming Brienne into his apartment. The woman looked around, surprised by the neatness and the style the apartment was furnished in. The soldier started talking about how that house was rarely used but how his father always kept it ready for him until he brought Brienne in the kitchen.

“Do you want me to make you dinner?” she asked without batting an eyelid. She wouldn't have been surprised by such a request; he'd just become an amputee, and it was already difficult to cook with two hands. With only one he couldn't do that.

Jaime smiled sincerely. “No, wench, it doesn't matter even if I haven't eaten yet. We could just order Chinese. What do you think?” he answered, shrugging. Brienne nodded -- she hadn't eaten either, but to be honest, she'd just forgotten it. She realized she was starving.

“So, why am I here?” she repeated the question, sitting on the chair Jaime had pointed to. Jaime put the box, which was lying on the table, in front of her. Brienne was taken aback, not knowing what she was supposed to do. Then she understood she had to open it. Frowning she opened the box and took out the holster. She held it for some seconds, then she shook herself out of her ecstasy. “I have never seen such colours,” Brienne whispered.

“Nor I. There was a time where I would have given my right hand for a thing like that. Now it appears I have, so it's wasted on me. Take it, Brienne, it's yours,” Jaime informed her with a friendly slap on her shoulder.

“But...” the girl tried to protest. It was something she didn't deserve. She knew how much something like that cost, and she hadn't done anything to deserve it.

“No buts, wench. Don't try to make me lose my temper with you again. You know what I'm like if I get angry,” he interjected, making her blush.

“Thank you, Jaime,” she then whispered, looking him in the eyes.

“Kingslayer. Don't get too friendly,” he jested, approaching the phone to order dinner.

* * *

Renly clicked the save button once again before closing the document. Then he stretched, getting on his feet, and headed to the kitchen.

“Do you want something from the kitchen, Loras?” he asked before disappearing past the glass door. The younger one requested a coffee and got back to work. Renly smiled in his assistant's general direction, knowing he couldn't see him. Loras’s hair amused him with how it seemed to move even when he was still. The lawyer slipped into the kitchen and put the coffee powder in the moka pot. They could have bought a more modern coffee machine, but every person working there was loyal to the old moka pot and the ten minutes it took to have a coffee.

“And to think I would be opening Willas, Garlan and Margaery's presents, now.”

Renly turned abruptly, not having heard Loras’s approach. To be honest, he hadn’t expected Loras to join him in the kitchen. “Well, I didn't ask you to come. I just asked where you'd saved the folder.” Renly was tormented by the guilt for this. Though Brienne had made him reflect: it was Christmas, and Loras returned just for him.

“I was worried that you wouldn't find on your own...” Loras wasn't a good liar; he was too expressive to lie skillfully. Renly could tell it was a lie but kept quiet, not knowing what would happen if he made Loras uncomfortable.

“Yeah, because I'm so stupid that I cannot do anything without you,” he teased, but the sentence sounded better in his head. He regretted saying it like that only seconds after closing his mouth.

Loras crossed the kitchen and turned the cooker off. Renly hadn't even noticed the coffee was overflowing. He almost expected his assistant to use this event as an argument for his thesis, but Loras just poured the coffee in two cups. However, he left them on the burner and slouched against the counter on Renly’s side of the kitchen.

“What presents did you expect?” Loras asked, casting a sideways glance at him with those golden eyes that tormented the older one so.

“Taking no notice of the fact that I still expect them, I was hoping in new clothes- and don't you say I already have too many!” He burst out laughing while Loras, for his part, only smiled. “You?”

“I think Willas bought me books to deepen my knowledge in law since I work here, and Garlan something to practice sports with. I don't know about Margaery. I never know what she wants to surprise me with. It could be a flowerpot just as easily as a new CD.” He chuckled like he usually did when talking of his siblings. “I thought I had to buy something for you too, but Marg said that you don't give presents to your boss.”

Renly smiled, shaking his head. “Poor bosses,” he replied, incapable of stopping thinking of what Loras could have bought for him.

“And, as long as you didn't buy me any presents, I was right not to buy you anything and listen to her,” he continued, still smiling. Renly was smiling too, but inside he was having a fit. What did Loras want to say with all that speech? Where was he heading?

“Are you sorry for being here and not with your brothers?” he mocked him, hoping to understand something. Loras shrugged without answering and without looking away from Renly.

Alright, now, that's enough. Grab your coffee and you go back to work, Loras or not Loras, Renly instructed himself when he leaned over his assitant to take his own cup. But then he found his entire body pressed against Loras’s as he grabbed the cup. He sighed, embarrassed and completely uneasy.

Loras put a hand on his side, pulling him even closer. Renly looked up, finding himself only a short distance from the other’s face. Loras was looking at him so intensely that Renly felt almost naked. Renly made to separate, persuaded that the situation was already difficult to explain as it was, but before he could just take a step, Loras had almost made the distance between their lips disappear, placing the tip of his nose against Renly’s.

“Do you think that if I had wanted to stay with my siblings and parents, that I would be here now? And don’t you think that if I hadn’t wanted you to kiss me -- as you have seemed to have been thinking of doing for a while -- I would have avoided being at a two-inch distance every time you almost kissed me in the last four months?” Loras' voice was a whisper, and yet it was like he had shouted, to Renly, who, not thinking anything anymore, kissed him, glad to feel Loras returning the kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Renly,” Loras murmured as soon as they broke the kiss. Renly smiled only for one second before going back to kissing him. Merry Christmas to you, too.

* * *

Daenerys rapidly rubbed her eyes before going to open her house's door. After yelling at Jorah, she'd run away to her own apartment, where she had broken down crying like a baby. She hadn't cried when her husband died; she'd just felt a hollow growing and devouring inside her. But now, this treason burned like blazing fire. Fire cannot kill a dragon, Viserys's voice echoed in her head. Who knew why he would say that? He said that because the Targaryen's company logo was a three-headed dragon, they were dragons themselves. It may not kill it, but the pain stays, she thought, trying to look decent for whoever had rung her doorbell.

“Daario,” she greeted him. “What brings you here?” She didn't care about being rude. She didn't care about anything.

The young man made room for himself inside without waiting for her to invite him in. Rudeness was a game for two, apparently. “I've heard what happened. Everybody knows already, and while the others are formulating theories about how Mormont got in business with them, I thought you might need something,” he explained, running a hand through his colourful beard. His smile, though, said a different story. It more said, “Since he got out of the way, it's my turn to help you”.

“Can't one live easily in this place? Since I got married, I've had nothing but disgraces and betrayals. I don't know who to trust anymore...” she admitted, trying not to start crying again. “I would like to build alliances, make projects... but all my cards’ castles fly as soon as I start trusting somebody.”

Daario was now regarding her curiously, perplexed because he was witness to an outburst of what he believed to be an unbreakable woman, and he was glad to have had such a privilege. “You know you can always count on my support,” he whispered, taking her hand to comfort her. She was beautiful, Daenerys, with her silver hair and violet eyes, but she was always sad. “Come on, now shall we put on a Christmas Song CD or shall we play charades?” he asked, suddenly cheerful. Daenerys smiled despite herself: if there were one thing that Daario was good at, aside from controlling his men, it was making her laugh.

“And how do you know about such things?” she asked, more curious than annoyed about his knowledge of western Christmas tradition.

“A man knows lots of things...” he smiled enigmatically, mocking a Braavosi accent. She really burst out laughing, shrugging. Maybe it had been for the best that Jorah had acted that way if that were what she got in exchange.

“It's like a Christmas movie...” the young woman whispered to herself, smiling at the sight of Daario looking around the whole house to find something that could read a CD.

“You know what annoyed me most?” Daenerys asked while they were eating chocolates from a family-sized box. “I had counted a lot on his support to get everything I dreamed of.”

Daario took her hand again. “But you'll get everything you dream of, Daenerys.” He looked at her in the eyes, making her tremble in anticipation. “Because I'll give you everything that you dream of.” Without adding anything else, he kissed her, and Daenerys was happy, for once, to feel someone else so close to her.

* * *

“Robert!” exclaimed Renly as soon as he entered the hospital room with Loras a step behind him, still astonished from the enthusiasm with which Renly had taken him by the hand, grabbing both their coats, and taken him to his car. “It's Christmas, Loras, and you just reminded me of it, and no one hurts his family at Christmas!”

“Have you already found the way to ruin the blonde cunt?” Robert asked, trying to sit -- a venture in which he failed a moment later. Renly smiled, eyes gleaming with happiness.

“That's what I wanted to talk you about. Well, that and one other thing.” He shoot a quick glance to Loras, who nodded.

“Then say it!” roared the Prime Minister.

Renly started to talk, explaining to his brother that it was silly to frame Lancel for an accident like the one of the afternoon whose blame could easily be Robert's -- if it hadn't been just a simple, unpleasant coincidence -- and ruin him for life at Christmas! Probably, he added, this had started in heat of the moment, during the frustration of being defeated by a boar.

“You, young man, have seen too many Christmas movies. I tell you,” Robert replied, mumbling. “But you have a point. I was angry. And that boar wasn't put there by Lancel.”

Renly turned to look at Loras, incredulous. Loras smiled at him, shrugging. “So,” the Prime Minister went on, “I believe you could also stop looking for the way to ruin that kid.”

Renly sighed in relief, mentally thanking whatever entity had allowed Robert, for once, to be reasonable.

“You said you had to tell me one other thing...” moaned Robert after a while when Renly had gone back slouching against the wall next to Loras, who was just whispering him to tell the other thing.

“Yeah... uhm, yes, I should,” replied the young lawyer, running a hand through his dark hair awkwardly. Robert was staring at him, waiting for an explanation. “You know when you tell me to find myself a girl, like, always?” He waited for the Prime Minister to nod. “There, um, is a reason why I never found one.”

Robert started laughing, gesturing his brother to come closer. “Just wait for Stannis to know, and we'll laugh! Ha!” he commented in a low voice, but then he raised his volume. “Boy, what's your name? Ah, Tyrell, come here.”

Loras approached them, raising an eyebrow. Robert slapped him on the arm, and Renly smiled at him, sincerely sorry. “See, Tyrell, women are all sluts. But, you try to be a slut with Renly, and you're more fucked than you would be --”

“Robert,” Renly stepped in firmly, “Enough.” He took Loras by the hand, and they left the room.

“Fancy that,” they heard Robert say, talking to himself. “One gives an assistant to his brother and he... ha!”

Loras smiled, kissing softly Renly on his cheek. “It could be worse.” Renly looked at him uncertainly, and then he started to laugh.

* * *

Christmas, 2014

Ned Stark had done a lot to persuade all his family to get in the car early in the morning to go and visit both Bran and Robert at the hospital. Catelyn had been happy to see them, and they had managed to convince a nurse to put Bran on a wheelchair so that they go and visit Robert all together.

They’d found a huge crowd in that room. There were Robert's two brothers-in-law, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister, each in a corner of the room, but Cersei wasn't there, nor their children. There also were both Robert's brothers, Stannis standing beside by a woman entirely dressed in red -- “Daddy, do you think that lady wants to be Santa?”, “No, Rickon, she's a priestess” -- and Renly who was speaking intensely to a boy with curly hair, who was laughing at each of his sentences. There were also a couple of people that Ned didn't know: a boy Robb's age, identical to how both Robert and Renly had looked at his age (probably Robert's son), and an imposing man with part of his face disfigured. Ned remembered that he worked for Robert, but he couldn't recall his name.

“Ah, Ned! Ned Stark and all his progeny!” Robert sighed, seeing the Stark family making their entrance.

Renly was the first to approach the Starks, lingering to talk with Bran and Catelyn, cheerfully saying hello to Sansa, ruffling Arya’s and Rickon's hair while reserving a energic handshake to Robb and Jon. The boy with the curly hair stayed where he was without looking away from Renly, but he was, in fact, lingering particularly in his observation, smiling from a distance. Sansa dropped her jaw in surprise, understanding the relationship between the two of them from Loras's glances.

“Arya!” she whispered, making her sister notice, too. “You owe me a favour; I was right!”

It took a few seconds for Arya to understand what she meant. “Nah...” she exclaimed, disappointed. “I can't believe it. What if I ask him?” Sansa looked at her in disgust. “Renly!” the young Stark said cheerfully, getting between the lawyer and her mother. “That boy over there, is he your boyfriend?”

Catelyn glared at her, giving her a scolding glare.

Renly, fortunately, laughed. “Loras? Yes, more or less.”

Arya sighed, hanging her head and going towards Sansa, who looked at her smugly. “Well, Sansa, stop it. It isn't like that just because he dresses well he has to be gay,” the smaller one grumbled.

Stannis approached quickly with the priestess at his heels. The woman put on an air of annoyance. He put a hand on his younger brother's arm, forcing him to turn around and apologise to Catelyn because he had to leave her for a second. Renly sighed, ready to endure his brother's complaints.

“Is it true?” Stannis inquired dryly without adding details. His tone didn't permit any doubts about which matter he was referring to.

Renly smiled. “Yes,” he answered simply, shrugging. Stannis shot a look to Loras, who rolled his eyes, guessing what they were talking about.

“And there's no way you would change your mind?”

Renly stared at him in disbelief, blinking. “Change my mind?  No! I couldn't even if I wanted, Stannis. And I don't think I would even want to change.” He laughed, surprised by the thickness of his brother’s mind.

“Good. I mean, not good, but if you're steady in your decision, I can't do anything. When you understand you’re wrong, don't come crying to me!”

Renly sighed. Why had Stannis always have to find something to be nettled by?

“Stannis,” the red woman stepped in, whispering to the man, “Calm down. Don't make a show of yourself, not for such a small matter. It doesn't look like your brother is trying to impose his point of view on you, or to damage you, advancing illegitimate pretenses. So, let it go. In fact, don't just let it go, you go and say hello to Loras Tyrell like you would do if he had been a girl. Get moving.” Renly felt grateful to Melisandre, for once, for her influence on Stannis. He smiled at her, but the woman waved it away with a nod. “Don't thank me, young Baratheon. Thank the Lord of Light who opened your brother's heart.”

Renly nodded and returned to Loras while Stannis tried to make small talk with both of them. Thank you. Thank you to whomever made this happen.

Arya, having grown bored of staying among all those well dressed people who were feigning fondness for one another, sat on a chair in the corridor. At some point, she heard the door closing once more. The boy identical to Renly sat in front of her. Arya looked at him with attention. “I'm Arya, by the way,” she said, trying to make small talk.

“Gendry,” he answered, smiling. From the way he smiled at her, Arya knew for certain there at least in one respect he wasn't identical to Renly.

“Want to go for a walk?” the girl suggested, already putting her jacket on.

“Okay, they're going to be busy for some time, anyway.”

Sansa was trying not to get bored, although the situation had noticeably decreased in its level of entertainment, since Renly and Loras had left, and that fascinating red woman as well, and her sister had run away with Gendry Waters.

“Sansa Stark?” Sansa turned round and found herself face-to-face with the man with the disfigured face. She gulped, slightly intimidated. She knew Sandor Clegane -- he worked for Joffrey, but she had never had contact with him. Seeing him from closer, though, he wasn't as much older than her as it had looked at first.

“Yes, it's me,” she answered, baffled. “You're... Sandor, right?” She was deeply glad to be able to talk with someone.

“Yeah. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry,” he said, not explaining what he was being sorry about, something that Sansa, with an apology, asked about immediately after he had finished speaking. “Ah, you're too polite. I'm sorry about the way that asshole treated you. I'm sorry it's over for you two.”

Sansa was surprised. If there were one thing she didn't expect, it was for that mountain of a man to care for her and Joffrey's relationship.“I... well, thank you for your interest. I didn't expect that..”

“That someone could care about you because of something other than your pretty face and could worry for your crushed feelings?” he interrupted her rudely. Sansa blinked, slightly annoyed by that.

“Exactly,” she stated.

“Well, when you seem to want to tell me about how badly that asshole treated you, I'm there. You know where to find me,” he concluded, turning his back to her.

“No, I don't!” Sansa tried to call after him, maybe only to keep talking to someone. She stood alone, wondering why he cared about her.

A couple hours later, the room was crowded once again, their lunches all ended. This time, Brienne, too, had come and, to Renly's great surprise, was wearing a dress, which actually suited her. Ned Stark looked around, smiling softly. It had only taken Robert nearly getting killed for them to spend Christmas all together.

**Fin.**

* * *

Author's end notes: I hope you liked the story at least a little bit. I hope you got all the references (situations, dialogues, and stuff), and that you feel like commenting here or on Tumblr, where I have the same username, or on Twitter, where you could find me as @darkwingdarkw_. It just takes a few words to let me know what you think of it. Otherwise, it doesn't matter, I just need to know you liked it! :D

(Nah, lying, you could also tell me that it sucks -- I accept all sorts of things.)

  
Adios,

Neuro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to AVirtoMusae who helped me by editing this chapter when i thought I'd never update.  
> And thanks to all who left kind and beautiful words in the comments section. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please come say hi on [Tumblr](neurodramaticfool.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> Merry Chritsmas again!


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